


It's Like I'm Wasting Your Honor

by IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam Winchester, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Has Self-Worth Issues (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Getting Together, Guilt, Guilty Castiel (Supernatural), Heavy Angst, Human Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt/pseuds/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt
Summary: After the Leviathans walked Cas into that lake, Sam and Dean fished him out, fully human. They take him back to the bunker, but they're royally pissed at him.When Cas is left alone for a while, he struggles to take care of himself without doing anything that would make the brothers angrier, desperate for forgiveness.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wayward_sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_sherlock/gifts).



> Title is from Taylor Swift's 'peace', and I promise this will end well.
> 
> wayward_sherlock, you wanted fluff. I am incapable of fluffing without angst, it would seem, but I promise there will be fluff. So much fluff. Soon.

Cas sniffled, swaying on his feet as he struggled to focus on the bookshelf in front of him. The pounding in his head increased, and he sniffled again.

He wanted to go back to bed and curl up under the blankets, and snooze until his newly-human body stopped rebelling against him, but… 

No. He couldn’t.

After all of the times he’d betrayed and hurt the Winchesters, he was lucky they were letting him stay in their bunker at all. He certainly didn’t want to be even more of a bother. No, he needed to make himself useful.

He pulled a sixth book on the intricacies of Wiccan magic off the shelf, hoping that this one would have the information they needed to find a counterspell for the well-intentioned mess of a spell a young woman had cast over a small town in Iowa.

Sam and Dean had headed over to check it out, and had discovered that the woman had really just wanted to make it rain because the town was going through a drought, but had accidentally said a couple of words in the spell wrong, leading to an unending deluge.

They’d left Cas in the bunker, with strict instructions to make himself useful and not fuck anything up, and to help them out with research when they called.

He stumbled over to the table in the library and cracked open the ancient book, squinting at the tiny print and wishing his headache would go away.

Thirty-seven pages later, he pulled out his phone and googled his symptoms, deducing that he most likely had a sinus infection.

He debated searching the bunker for medication to help him feel better, then remembered how, once Dean had returned from his trip into the 2014 Apocalypse world, he’d been adamant that Cas shouldn’t take meds. Apparently he had an addictive personality.

He didn’t want to do anything that might upset Dean even more, so he settled back in and resigned himself to suffering through his study session.

***

By the time he found a possible counterspell and sent it off to Sam, he felt worse than he had when the Leviathans had walked him into a lake and exploded, leaving his very human body to be fished out and dragged to the bunker by the Winchesters.

He was puttering around the kitchen, trying to figure out what he could eat. Dean had yelled at him, once, a month or so ago, for using the stove without knowing how, and even though he knew how now, he figured it was probably safest to not touch the stove.

He didn’t want to eat any of the ham or bacon that was in the fridge, because that was Dean’s, and he might be angry with Cas if he came back and some of it was gone.

He really wished they’d given him more clear instructions. He knew he was on thin ice with them as it was, and he didn’t want to make things even worse.

It had been six days since the brothers left, and in that time, Cas had gone through most of the stuff he knew he was allowed to eat, namely things he knew neither brother would miss too much. Peanut butter sandwiches, the cheap Ramen packs they only kept on hand because there had been a sale, the fruit and vegetables that would spoil before they got back.

He wasn’t worth the waste of good food, not after all the things he’d done. 

He wasn’t worth anything, a fact made clear to him through the way Sam ignored him completely and Dean only spoke to him in clipped, terse sentences and harsh criticisms, liberally sprinkled with references to all the ways Cas had wronged him.

Morosely, he chewed on the last piece of bread as he considered the benefits of taking a quick nap.

Then his phone dinged. It was Dean. 

_ > Hey, Cas. Think you could do something about the wards on the bunker door? _

That was understandable. It was January, and a recent sleet storm had crusted over some of the wards carved into the door, then damaged the paint as it melted.

Quite a few of the wards were actually carved into the door, of course, but Sam and Dean had spray painted on a few of their own, the maintenance of which Sam usually dealt with.

It had been an inexcusable lapse for Cas to leave them in the state they were in for as long as he had, and he immediately retreated to the library to grab the spray paint and the diagrams showing him exactly what to do.

He stepped outside into the dark, the raging wind twisting his trench coat around him and sending tendrils of cold creeping around his body. He shuddered and held up his flashlight, his shoes crunching through the thin layer of snow on the ground as he surveyed the door.

By the third sigil, his fingers were turning blue and his teeth were chattering, and he wondered if he should have braved Dean’s potential wrath to ask if he could borrow a coat before stepping outside.

No.

He didn’t deserve to borrow Dean’s clothes. He didn’t even deserve to keep taking up the space they so generously gave him.

He turned his attention back to the door, noticing that he’d made a mistake on one of the sigils.

He trudged back into the bunker, happily sighing at the temporary warmth, then forced himself back out into the cold armed with dish soap and a microfiber cloth, scrubbing away until his mistake was erased.

***

By the time he finished painting the sigils, his head was pounding, his nose was running, and his extremities were frozen. He took a step from where he had braced himself against the doorframe, and stumbled, falling onto his hands and knees into the snow.

Numbly, he registered that he should probably be feeling a lot colder than he was. 

With great effort, given that his limbs seemed to be completely uncoordinated and were not obeying his commands to move, he managed to drag himself and his supplies back inside, where he promptly collapsed at the top of the stairs.

The cold, the exhaustion, the sinus infection, and the lack of decent food had caught up with him, and he slipped into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets slightly better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the LAST chapter is gonna be the indulgent fluff apparently but IT WILL BE FLUFFY. I THINK. I HOPE.

Dean hunched his shoulders against the cold as he got out of the Impala, parked securely in the bunker’s garage, and scurried for the door, duffle bag hanging from his hand.

He burst into the bunker, Sam close behind him, and took a deep breath as the relative warmth of the place sunk into his skin. “Cas?” He called. “We’re back.”

No answer.

“Cas?”

Nothing. 

“Sammy, you heard from Cas?”

Sam set his duffle down with a thunk. “Nope. Maybe he’s out looking for more ways to destroy the world.”

Dean paused, thinking. “Y’know, he meant well. Maybe we should stop being so hard on him.”

Sam shrugged, then nodded grudgingly in agreement. “He’s behaved since he got here.”

Dean moved further into the bunker, calling out for Cas. He was greeted with silence, a draft of cold air, and a half-eaten piece of bread on the kitchen counter.

He followed the draft out to the bottom of the staircase, where he noticed that the bunker’s front door was cracked open.

Then he saw a tan bundle crumpled at the top of the stairs.

“Sam!” he yelled, hurrying up and crouching next to Cas, who was looking awfully pale and not moving. “Sammy, help!”

***

Casl woke up in bed, which was surprising, because the last thing he remembered was stumbling in the door and falling.

His headache was still coming out in full force, and he groaned, then struggled to sit up. He couldn’t be lazing around when the Winchesters got back, there were things he needed to do…

“What the hell, Cas?”

Dean was sitting beside his bed.

Cas groaned as the voice set his head to throbbing again.

“Do you have any idea how much you scared me? You were- you were fucking hypothermic, Cas, if we’d gotten back any later you could’ve died!”

Cas flinched away from Dean’s anger, curling in on himself. Dean was right to be angry, he’d had to waste valuable time and resources taking care of Cas when he had better things to be doing. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Cas, when was the last time you even ate something substantial? Why were you outside without a coat? Are you- what was this, some kind of twisted suicide attempt?”

Cas groaned again, licking his lips as he shifted on the bed, and Dean was instantly there, holding a glass of juice for him to sip from. That was strange.

“I- no. I was just… just trying to be good.”

Another voice came from the doorway, Sam. Looking wary and jumpy, and why shouldn’t he? Cas had broken the wall inside his head and let the Devil prey on him, but he wasn’t running away like he had been. “What do you mean by that, trying to be good?”

“I was- I was trying to be useful. So you’d keep me around. I can earn my keep, I can, I promise, I’m sorry I let myself get hurt.” He cringed away from Sam, whose expression had suddenly darkened.

Dean cut in. “Cas, why weren’t you wearing a decent coat?”

Was this a trick question? “I- I’m enough of a burden as it is. I don’t deserve to borrow a coat.”

There was a beat of complete silence, then Sam made a tiny squeaking noise.

Dean’s voice was soft, gentle, the next time he spoke, like he was talking to a spooked animal. Maybe he was; maybe that was how he saw Cas. “And why haven’t you been eating properly?”

Okay, Cas knew the right answer to this one. Maybe once he answered correctly, they’d stop being angry. “That’s your food. I don’t deserve it.”

Sam moved into the room, his rage at Cas seemingly forgotten. “You mean you’ve been, what, living on peanut butter sandwiches and cheap Ramen?”

Cas nodded, smiling, pleased with his ability to at least do one thing right.

Sam’s face fell and he let out a breathless “Jesus,” which really didn’t clear things up at all.

“I thought- I thought you wanted this? You hate me.” Cas was confused, tired, and in pain, and all he wanted was for everything to make sense again.

“Okay,” Dean said, “It looks like we really did a number on you. Now, I’m gonna go make you some food while you and Sammy clear the air in here, and then I’ll have a talk with you too.” Then he got up and left the room.

Cas eyed Sam warily. He knew that whatever the other man dished out he had coming, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Sam sighed heavily and took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

Cas tensed up and flinched away, minutely, hoping Sam didn’t notice.

“I’m angry with you,” Sam said, his voice flat, and Cas nodded in agreement. He knew this. “But you’re trying,” Sam continued, and whoa, wait up, this was going off script? “I haven’t forgiven you, not yet, but I think- I think I’m going to try. Because you’re trying, and I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did.” Then he fell silent, staring at his hands, twisting his fingers around.

“I’m sorry.” Cas’ voice was quiet, but he knew Sam heard him. “I don’t think I ever apologized to you, and I’m sorry.” Then he sneezed.

“Dean’s getting you some meds,” Sam told him, amused, before switching back to being serious. “But dude, you gotta stop with this self-blaming act. If it’s cold, you wear a coat. If you’re hungry, you eat, okay?”

Cas nodded, dazed, and Sam clapped him on the shoulder before leaving the room.

***

Then Dean came in with a bowl of tomato rice soup, and had pretty much the same conversation, except he said that he forgave Cas, and Cas was really confused, and sleepy with the warm soup in his belly, and the meds were making him woozy, so he fell asleep, and when he woke up, he was even more confused, because Dean was sitting in an armchair beside his bed, snoring softly.

Cas got up and went to the bathroom, noting that he was feeling a lot better than the night before, then ventured into the kitchen. He could make breakfast for everybody.

He shuffled into the room to find Sam already there, standing at the stove and frying bacon, and froze in the doorway.

“Hey, man,” Sam said, with a strained smile. “Bacon?”

Cas moved further into the kitchen, nodding, hoping that maybe this was a new beginning for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLUFF. FINALLY. IM SORRY.

*six months later*

Cas sighed, happily settling into the couch in the den, waiting for Sam and Dean to join him for movie night.

Movie night had been instituted after Cas confessed he’d never seen Star Wars, which was apparently a travesty, and the greatest of his betrayals so far, so. Movie night had happened, and they’d had a blast. Dean had pelted Sam and Cas with popcorn, and then they’d formed a tentative alliance to capture and tickle Dean within an inch of his life, and by the end of the whole bonding experience, they’d all been loose-limbed and gasping for breath, laughing at each other, and Cas had somehow missed Vader’s big reveal completely. Needless to say, it had quickly become a tradition.

Sam was in charge of picking the movie this time, so when he entered the room and started scrolling through Netflix, Cas perked up and eagerly watched, anticipating the continuation of his film education.

Dean flopped down on the couch next to him, holding a bag full of twizzlers, and started good-naturedly poking at Sam.

“Dude, a rom-com, really?”

“It’s rated highly on Rotten Tomatoes, and has an interesting premise. Plus, Kiera Knightley.”

Dean made a small noise of agreement and settled in to watch, his thigh pressed against Cas’, his arm slung across the back of the sofa.

“Scoot, jerk,” Sam said, prodding at Dean’s side, and he slid closer to Cas so Sam could sit down too. Cas found that he greatly enjoyed Dean’s proximity on movie nights.

The movie was… interesting. Castiel still had a tiny bit of trouble with some of the more convoluted situations portrayed, and didn’t understand a lot of what was going on, but it was still highly enjoyable.

He sat, spellbound, until the final words of the movie rang out. “Love, actually, is all around.”

Sam sat up and stretched like a languid cat, switching the TV off and shuffling out of the room, presumably to collapse in bed. Next to him, Dean shifted awkwardly.

“Good movie,” Cas remarked, settling back into the couch cushions and swiping a twizzler from the bag.

Dean didn’t answer, and Cas turned to look at him. A muscle was ticking in his clenched jaw, and Cas felt a small stab of worry. Not fear, they were well past that particular unpleasantness, but still. “Dean?”

Dean turned to look at him, a wealth of emotions swimming in those beautiful, expressive eyes. “Cas, are you- do you still feel like you have to earn your keep here?”

“No?”

“Do you feel like you have to do what we ask you to, whether you want to or not?” Dean was leaning in, now, his voice shaking ever so slightly. 

“No, Dean.” Where was this going?

“May I kiss you?” Dean was nervous, he realized, and that was understandable. Cas was nervous too.

“Yes,” he said, and leaned forward to meet Dean halfway.

It wasn’t like they showed in the movies. Sparks didn’t fly; there was no instantaneous electrical connection. It felt warm, and safe, and happy. Kissing Dean felt like coming home.


End file.
